Something
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: A sad, Sherlolly song!fic based off of 'Say Something' by Great Big World. Prompt from Chaosisblue. More a Molly Hooper fic than Sherlolly. AU where Molly doesn't help Sherlock fake his death.


So, this is a fic for my friend, chaosisblue, who requested a song!fic based off of '_Say Something' _by Great Big World. So, heads up, this is going to be as sad as I can possibly make it, because that's what she requested. Hoping I can draw out some tears from you lovely dears, we'll see what we can do. :/

This is an AU, in which Sherlock didn't come to Molly for help.

**I do not own BBC, Sherlock or Molly, or the song 'Say Something', or Great Big World. Actually, I own very little, in the grand scheme of things, lol. Just the ideas for where this one shot is going.**

**EDIT: I WAS INFORMED THAT IT IS NOT ALLOWED TO COPY LYRICS, EVEN WITH A DISCLAIMER AT THE BEGINNING OF SAID STORY (and even though it still happens all the time). THEREFORE, PLEASE GO LISTEN TO THE SONG 'SAY SOMETHING' BY GREAT BIG WORLD IN REFERENCE TO THIS FIC! ALL OTHER CONTENT IS MINE, AND THE LYRICS HAVE BEEN REMOVED.**

Enjoy!

**Something**

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

The cold wind of the morning swept through her hair, and yet she felt nothing at all.

Nothing.

It had been two years since he had so selfishly taken himself from her side. Two years, and Molly still couldn't erase the images of watching the man she loved falling to his death from the roof. It was their shared place, a mutual intrigue in the morbid and slightly grotesque. Now, now it was a ruin. A standing reminder of what she would never get back in her life. She had quit months after it happened, when stepping into the doors of St. Bart's was no longer possible for her to do without choking back sobs that made her ill. She'd moved, and tried to move on, never quite making it past the memory of Sherlock Holmes.

The question that rang through her mind on a constant loop, the single thought that kept her awake at night, or would wake her up from the exhausted sleep that she only now occasionally got: 'Why didn't he let me help him?'

She now stood, not in front of the white brick building of the hospital, but in a small clearing, not far from the old ruins of a church long since used. Her hazel eyes glued to the ebony slab in front of her, not permitting themselves to move, except to trace the outlining curves of his name. Her mind remembered the last thing she had said to him of any significant value or weight.

_OoOo_

"_If you need anything, anything at all, you can have me."_ A long heavy sigh left her as she pondered that last day she spent with him. Another set of steady tears began to trickle from her eyes, and she pulled her scarf (_his scarf, technically_) closer to her neck.

"Why didn't you need me? Just once."

She had tried to continue on, tried to at least trudge through her normal routine. That stopped when the reporters had started harassing her in the lobby. Routine became a thing of the past when she went to the lab day in and day out, expecting (no, _hoping_) to see him in his usual place. And after nearly a year of trying, Molly Hooper simply couldn't continue trying to hold the world she once knew on her shoulders, not when it was crumbling out from underneath her. She had tried to move on after that, tried with a new job (different hospital) and a new flat and even a new boyfriend. They never even made it through dinner. She couldn't even try to ignore his sneering remarks about 'that dead detective', and promptly left the restaurant on her own.

After another couple of months, Molly decided to stop trying anything at all.

_OoOo_

The rain had been beating down on her for nearly thirty minutes now, and yet Molly felt nothing at all.

Nothing.

She was too lost in thought, too lost to notice that her jumper was now clinging to her back, her hair dripping around her shoulders. Taking a look around, she ensured that she was alone in the small cemetery.

"Um...I don't know how to do this. I mean, you can't hear me anyway, so I... this is silly, isn't it? Me, talking to a slab as if it'll do any good now." Molly chuckled pitifully to herself, taking a few steps away as she debated between leaving or staying. However, the burden in her chest kept her from straying too far. She had things to say, important things that she needed rid of in her head.

"Oh, Sherlock. I would have done anything. Whatever you needed, I would have done it. How could you not know that?" Her voice started in a hushed tone, her head shaking in a state of continued disbelief. She'd not even noticed that her tears joined in the trails of water sliding over her chilled cheeks, the rain coming down in a faster, heavier pour.

"They're saying you're a fraud. How can they say that? All those people you helped, turning their backs on you at the drop of a hat. I...I don't understand that. I wish I could do something, say something, to convince them that you weren't a fake. But, who would listen to me, right? I mean, who would listen to the silly girl who lo-" Her words caught in her throat, snagging on a sob that forced its way out into the cold air. The almost admission caused Molly to start retreating, wanting to save herself from the emotional turmoil she had started by coming to the little graveyard in the first place. However, a misplaced step in a small pile of mud sent the pathologist sliding to the ground, effectively shocking her, and forcing even more sobs from her small figure.

_OoOo_

"Shit," she murmured between broken breaths, forcing herself closer to the marble headstone, "Oh, wouldn't give to hear you insult me again. Funny to think about, ya know? You always know just what to say to make me cry, and now I'd be willing to take the whole lot of it, just to hear you say something. _Anything._" She placed her head against it, not feeling the coolness of it against her skin, not caring that she was definitely frozen at this point.

"I loved you, you know? Heaven help me, I still love you, and you aren't even here to scold me for it." Molly's tears dripped in time with the ebbing rainfall. Her downcast eyes rose just slightly, looking over the curve of his name. She rose a hand to the slab, her fingers tracing the letters gently. They were so beautifully, so tragically etched into the stone, the permanence speaking volumes, while saying nothing but his name.

She would have stayed longer, would have stayed there forever with him, were it not for the loud clash of thunder that boomed overhead. The threat of even more rain made itself known, and Molly began to feel the cold that had settled into her bones. With a slight tilt of her head, she planted a small kiss against the cold stone, her lips lingering for the slightest of seconds, her eyes screwing closed tight.

"Goodbye, Sherlock," she whispered, before forcing herself to stand. She took a final glance at the grave, before making her way back to her car, the rain just beginning to drop from the sky once more.

_OoOo_

His eyes followed her from the moment she stepped out of her car. He took in the sight of her frail form as she swept to the grave, _his_ grave. When she had slipped in the wet soil, he wanted to race to her side, wanted to heave her into his arms and hold her. Anything to stop those eyes from crying, crying for him. If he had been any further away, he wouldn't have caught her words as she begged for his harsh tongue, he wouldn't have heard her declaration of love.

He wouldn't have heard her say goodbye. As she placed her lips against his tombstone, he wanted nothing more than to be at the receiving end of such a gift. As she stood and walked away, he wanted nothing more than to go after her, to show her that he was so very alive. And as the car drove off into the oncoming storm, Sherlock Holmes found himself whispering to himself.

"Oh, Molly Hooper."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

So, that may or may not have been as sad as I was going for. Either way, it has been written, so I hope you enjoyed it. Leave a review and tell me what you think, pretty please? Again, thank you for reading, you're all so very lovely! :D


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